














COPYRIGHT DEPOSn^ 


^. ,. • . 't- - - ’ »- -* . * 


. ^»- 


V 








- ■” ■ f» '•'»'*■“■ -'^-f 

. s''. ,, 

- -A-:' '-•':•>• i-. 4- 

' Hb^lrl ' *'• T' ^Sn 

■‘- I* . '- • ' • s^v :'>'■»'•-> • 


. •■ "“J ^ •< 

. . -«^A , ? » ->*k • 


- '- -^ • -■ ^ S 'V •' wS 








*7''-f 1?*3 

I . . ^ 


^N* - 

*•*•'.•< '■j 







- -:>f , w 


CN 


f 

f 


■- ♦ 


* *•>. v.% • ^.^S-^'!72_ 

- • *■ - ^ • ^*- •-'s - ^ • < *-,%w-rM~ ■ . 

. ■ w. ' ■, //i:,-, .- 

.S , •jTii'. ' .• .’^“ ' 

, •■■" ' r.^. ' ‘ .Vf>T' ■ •: 

• • •.- Trr- •- • «'■-■»- - — — s- 



w 


• V 

s t 


* '< ' ^kT\ 



.» •>* 







r^Vi 





« ♦ • • - Ji 


'\ 

•: . V* -';'-; 


• « *-■ I 

' * 

> » 4 




* vji'gf s 


k. 


’y , '• 

V - 



'-.■.■.•.'S?..i, i.- • 


■mh 


-XVi 


• ^ 






.. . . ,..,H'- 

.• V;- -- . 


•=’ j’,, -*-'. ^ * 





i 




■ .* y 

% • 

• • 

\ 


'V 


V \ 


: -K ' ' V ^ ^ ^ 

*•.* ^^ ' • \ .. •'. • ••■i - *^ ‘^ * .** ..' 1 


mM 

m 




• V >y-. -JvSj j'nit 


































“Me an’ Methuselah. ” 


ME AN' METHUSELAR 
AND OTHER EPISODES 
BY HARRIET FORD ^ Si 



^ ■» OfJ 'v 

NOV 20 ,89 

BUFFALO 4 THE PETER PAUL BOOK 
COMPANY 4 420 MAIN STREET J895 

Oc<|a^ 5/ 

/fo5, 


/rr-' 




V, 


c« < 
t c 


e c 
too 


etc 


• o 


c 

0 0 c 


c f e < 


< e « o 

c 

* o c 


t c • 


c o 


fo^right, IS95, by 

Harriet Ford 


c c c 


PRINTED AND BOUND BV 
THE PETER PAUL BOOK COMPANY 
BUFFALO, N. Y. 


I T IS a pleasure to dedicate this 
little volume to Miss Evelyne 
Hilliardt for whom the episodes 
were originally written^ and whose 
clever interpretation of them has 
led to their publication 











CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Me an’ Methuselar, . . .9 

At the Photographer’s, . . 17 

Terra Incognita, . . . .25 

Dr. Bean, Dentist, . . . 29 

Between the Acts, , . . .39 

The Matrimonial Manceuvers of Major 

Musket, .... 47 

An American Girl at an English Dinner 

Party, . . . . .61 

A Young Maid and — An Old Maid, . 69 

A Fragment, . . . .79 












ME AN’ METHUSELAR 


\ 


Me an’ Methuselar. 


[Scene. An alley leading to the stage entrance of a 
theater. Enter a very ragged child carrying a pet cat. 
She looks cautiously around as if afraid of being fol- 
lowed. Her dress is draggled and she wears an old 
shawl. Her hair is tangled and unkempt.] 

OP — nobody seed us, Methuselar. Nop — no 



1 N — o — op. Thought sure Pike Cotes ’u’d guess 
what we wuz up t’, an’ foller. Oh — oo ! Oh — oo ! 
That wuz a stunner, wa’n’t it, Methuselar? Sit 
down sudden ’nough that time, didn’t we? Oh — 
00 ! Did I smash his ’ittle empty stomach? 
Did I? Drat Daddy! He drank yer milk, he 
did. Meuw, meuw 1 Ye’re right, Methuselar. 
He’s a stingy, skimpy, skinny old stealer. That 
he is. But you know you stayed out on the roof 
half the night — yes, you did, yes, you did. 
O’course ye’re shamed of it now ye’re starved an’ 
sober. Daddy got in first an’ swiped your drink, 
he did. There’s no ust o’ me talkin’. You an’ 
Daddy are dead set t’ keep out nights. Yes, you be, 
yes, you be! Never you mind. We’ll buy a 


9 


10 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


whole river o’ milk sometime or ’nother, an’ you 
shall jest swim in it, Methuselar. 

AVe’ve had a tough time of it to-day, haint we? 
This ’ere’s me first ’round these diggins. Don’t 
b’lieve nobody never thought o’ this afore. My 
eyes! but I wus ’fraid Pike Cotes ’u’d catch on an’ 
sneak after us, but we skipped him. This must 
be the stage door. We’ll jest set here an’ sing, 
Methuselar. 

“ On Sunday night 

’Tis my delight 

An’ pleasure don’t you see, 

With all the boys 
An’ all the girls — ” 

Can’t seem t’ rouse a shadder, Methuselar. 
Meuw ! You knowed this wus the spot fer us. Yes, 
you did, yes, you did. Didn’t you wink yer 
grazy eyes, an’ wag yer fuzzly tail when I sat an’ 
thought it up ? Now you knowed from the start, 
Methuselar, that you had t’ toddle ’long a me, an’ 
you ’greed to it, yes, you did, you did. You 
heard Pike Cotes tell how he got in the the-a-tur 
t’ run erruns an’ things, an’ he said as how all the 
acturs an’ show folks jest dote on cats, an’ ’u’d 
have a fit if one turned agin ’em. Why, puss, 
they’d no more dare walk by me an’ you ’thout 
givin’ us a penny fer luck — goodness! Here 
comes one. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


11 


“ She’s my sweetheart, 

I’m her Joe, 

She’s my Annie, 

I’m her beau. 

Soon we’ll marry 
Never to part — ” 

He can’t be an actur, Methuselar. Why, he 
looked right at you an’ you never phased him. 
That song did it, Methuselar. It’s a Jonah, ain’t 
it? Let’s try an odder. 

“ The heart bowed down by grief an’ — ” 

We’re a sad pussy cat, 

A hungry pussy cat. 

An’ a sad, sad, sorrowful girl. 

Here comes somebody else. Better luck this 
time, Methuselar. 

“ On Sunday night, 

’Tis my delight. 

An’ pleasure don’t you see,” 

Oh thank you, lady. 

Thank you lady. 

Da de da, ah de dee — e. 

“ There’s an organ in the parlor 
To give the place a tone. 

An’ ye’re welcome ev’ry evenin’ 

To Maggie Murphy’s home.” 

My eyes! Methuselar, ain’t it grand? Hain’t 
seen one afore t’-day, have we? You caught her. 


12 


ME an’ METHUSELAH 


Methuselar. Yes, you did, you did! She’s ’fraid 
you’d bring her everlastin’ bad luck. Guess she 
don’t know it’s ’bout all you kin do t’ hustle fer 
yourself ’thout mousin’ ’round hoodooin’ other 
folks. You couldn’t do much hoodooin’ on such 
an awful empty stomach, could you? Brace up, 
Methuselar 1 Here comes a swell. 

Oh sir, jest a penny t’ help a girl, me an’ puss 
are starvin’. Jest a — 

Oh thank you, sir! Thank you ! 

A nickle, as ye’re a cat with whiskers, Methuse- 
lar ! You done it, you done it ! Yes, you did — 
yes, you did. Yer first trip, too, aint it? You’ll 
soon be up t’ the tricks. You do look hungry, 
Methuselar, but I’ll have t’ train you in looks. 
Now jest t’ think, if you could squeeze out a few 
tears while I sung, my eyes! wouldn’t we get 
rich ! Here comes a beautiful lady. Hush up 
an’ I’ll try a new dodge on ’er. 

Oh lady, can’t you give a poor girl a lift ? I do 
so want t’ see you act in the play. If I could 
only git a few more pennies, me an’ a friend ’u’d 
clap you out o’ sight. Jest a few pennies, a 
quarter, or a dime, or a nickle ’u’d do, lady. Oh 
thank you ! Much obliged, much obliged ! God 
bless you, lady ! 

Ho, ho, Methuselar ! How’s that? Ain’t you 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


13 


proud o’ yer mudder? That’s the way t’ catch 
’em. Pike put me on, he did, the night he an’ 
me went to the play, an’ he tole me t’ help him 
raise the roof whenever his bloomin’ benefactor so 
much as put his nose on the stage. 

Methuselar, I don’t think we need to sing. 
Anybody jest t’ look at us ’u’d know we wuz 
poverty-struck. Now I’d know you was the minit 
I seen you. Well, I have t’ sing t’ make folks 
look I s’pose. Oh, see this gentleman, Methuselar! 
I guess an upperatic song ’ll catch him. 

** She’s plain Molly 0, 

Tender an’ sweet. 

She’s plain Molly O, 

An’ my heart is at her feet. 

She’s plain Molly — ” 

Oh, thank you, sir. Oh, thank you! Thank 
you! My name? Oh — Ginny Mur — Genavarur 
Murkin’s my name, sir. Yes, I have t’ sing or I 
guess we’d starve. I’d ’a’ sung better fer you jest 
now only I’m frightful hungry. Rats ain’t in it 
with me an’ Methuselar. Methuselar? This ’ere’s 
Methuselar. We’re pards. Purty name? Yes, 
we think so. Pike Cotes, he named him. He’s 
’bout the only friend I got. Pike is. He goes t’ 
Sunday School, Pike does, an’ he tole me, he says. 


14 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


“ Now if you’ll name that ’ere cat Methuselar, he’ll 
live to be as old as this ’ere house, see? ” 

Our house? Well, ’taint ourn, but we live on 
top. Bordun’s saloon’s on the first floor, you see, 
an’ Granny Midders an’ her son’s on the second. 
Tom Grimy an’ his pard’s the third, an’ Daddy 
an’ me an’ Methuselar’s fourth back. That ’ere 
saloon’s the spite o’ me an’ Methuselar’s life, 
’cause Dad he — he can’t — can’t get by it nohow. 
He’s richer’n we are, but he has t’ drink. He 
can’t help it somehow. He’s purty weak lately. 
Me an’ Methuselar think he’s ’bout drowned out. 

What, sir? What, sir? Sing — in — the the-a- 
tur? Yes, sir! Yes — sir — yes — sir! Sing in 
the the-a-tur? My eyes! You don’t think 
they’d have me? You do? Sing in the the-a- 
tur! Sing — in — oh sir, may I try? I’ll sing — 
nobody never heard the way I’ll try for it, sir. 
Not alone? Yes, I know sir, — in the chorus, yes, 
sir. To-morrow? Yes, sir. Ten o’clock sharp, 
sir. Yes, I’ll fix up a bit, sir. Oh, thank you, 
sir. Look for you? Yes, sir. Good-bye, sir. 
Good-bye, sir — Good-bye ! 

Sing — in — the — the-a-tur ! Methuselar ! Me — 
Ginny Murkins. You shall hear, Methuselar, you 
shall, you shall. My ! but I’ll be skart, won’t I? 
but I’ll sing, Methuselar. What’ll Pike say now, 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


15 


what’ll he say? Methuselar, you shall have a 
pouncin’ bowl o’ milk this minit, an’ Granny 
Midders shall help me get a gown. Methuselar — 
think of it ! Sing in the the-a-tur — the the-a-tur 
— the the-a-tur * 


[Exit laughing and crying]. 












AT THE PHOTOGRAPHER’S 





4 




r 






At the Photographer’s. 


[Scene : A photographer’s studio. 

Occupant : Charles Bolton, a young artist, who is strug- 
gling to establish a profession and maintain exist- 
ence. He loves everything in nature but a rainy 
day, scorns nothing in science but a pocket camera. 

Voice from adjacent dressing room.] 


RE you ready for me, Mr. Bolton ? ” 



[Out bursts a lovely dash of color. Anyone but 
a photographer would have been bewildered.] 

“ I’m in such perplexity, Mr. Bolton, whether to 
have a bust taken or a full figure. That picture 
you made of Miss Reynolds was simply regal, but 
then she’s so tall. I want mine quite as effective 
only totally different of course. I thought of 
descending a staircase d la Princess Louise, don’t 
you know. I’m sure, though, that Miss Carlton 
had one taken after that idea. She would declare 
I was imitating her, and that would never do. 
One must be original if nothing else, you know. 
Perhaps I’d better have only a head taken. Which 
view is best — profile, three-quarters or full face ? 


17 


18 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


Do tell me! Mightn’t I lean my head on my 
hands after the fashion of Marie Baskirtseff? 
How was it ? Like this ? Do you think my 
hands are pretty enough ? Oh dear, no I I haven’t 
had my nails manicured for more than a week. 
That wouldn’t be at all comme ilfaut. Now couldn’t 
I use these lorgnettes effectively? Isn’t this 
rather dzstmgu^? Walk around? Oh, I see, so 
as to get my train in place. Strange, trains never 
will fall gracefully when one wants them to. Will 
this do ? Shan’t I raise my eyes — so ? Ready ? 
W ait until I take a long breath. There ! Through ? 
Well, that’s a weight off one’s mind. Being pho- 
tographed is such a serious thing to me. One is 
always fancying what one’s descendants a thous- 
and years hence may be saying over one’s like- 
ness. Do you ever wonder how photographs will 
be taken then ? Of course you do. Some totally 
different process, I presume. Some one waiting ? 
Oh, I beg pardon 1 ” 

[Enter Aunt Mary Crowfoot from Indiana.] 

“Is this the place to git your picture took ? I 
thought I’d like to s’prise my niece — the one as 
was named arter me. I s’pose I’m gittin’ rather 
’long in years, though, to indulge in sich frivol- 
ities. In my time we used to think daguerreotypes 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


19 


was ’bout the nicest things that ever could he, but 
I s’pose them new fangled notions are ’way ahead. 
Where shall I sit? You think I’d look better 
without my bonnet? You do ? Well, I don’t look 
quite the same as I did when I was young. In 
them days folks used to say — well, it ain’t my 
place to speak o’ sich things. Look pleasant? 
Why certainly. Enough? You don’t mean to 
say you’re through ? Well, I never! I must say 
I’m very much obliged. It wasn’t half so bad as I 
thought it would be. Good arter noon.” 

^‘Are you engaged, sir?” 

[Enter the elegant Mrs. Wiloughby. Bolton perceives 
with trepidation her outraged expression.] 

Mr. Bolton, I hope you appreciate the fact that 
my allowing my daughter to grant you a sitting 
was an unusual favor. I am surprised, sir, that 
you should so far take advantage of my kindness 
as to place her picture in your show window. It 
is against my wishes that my daughter’s beauty 
should become a subject of common comment. I 
hope you will rectify the mistake — it must have 
been a mistake — at once, or I shall be compelled 
to withdraw my patronage.” 

[Exit Mrs. Wiloughby with overwhelming dignity. 
Enter Miss Sylph, a flower from Madison Square Garden.] 


20 


ME AN’ METHUSELAR 


Dear me, who is that butterfly of fashion. She’s 
kept me waiting long enough. I didn’t dare to sit 
down, these togs do wrinkle so. Is your process 
instantaneous ? I want to poise on one foot — you 
know, like that antique messenger boy — what was 
his name? Never mind racking your brain for it. 
I can’t stand more than three hours on three toes, 
you know, so just fly around. How’s this ? Alright? 
Go ahead. Over? Well, I am relieved ! Let me 
tell you, I’ve a gorgeous dress for the next ballet. 
I’ll come around and pose for you as a summer’s 
day or something. You can get it copyrighted 
and make your fortune. Mind you don’t forget 
my royalties, though. Send for the costume ? Oh 
no. I’ll bring it around in — my purse. Ha, ha ! 
Ta, ta — ta, ta !” 

[Enter Mollie Griffin, fresh from school.] 

“ Oh, Mr. Bolton, do take my picture as soon as 
you can. I’ve to make a Philopena present, and 
the only unique thing I can think of is to have a 
five dollar piece cut and my picture painted on 
the inside. Of course, I must get a good photo 
first. Do you suppose I can stop laughing long 
enough? I wan’t something awfully piquant — 
like this. Oh dear, I never can keep my face 
straight. Wait a minute until I get serious. Now — 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


21 


no, not yet ! Do tell me something pathetic. Do 
you know, I believe it is that camera pointed at 
me like a miniature cannon that upsets me so. 
Can’t you take my picture with something else ? 
No ? Oh dear, now I’ll try. May I wink? Have 
you taken it? Oh, I am glad. Now I can laugh 
all I like once more. When can I have the 
proofs ? Hurry them, won’t you ? I’m so much 
obliged. Good-bye!” 

“May I come in ? ” 

[Enter Bridget Mahone.] 

“ Luk at that now. Ain’t she the swatest young 
thing ? Shure an’ if yez can’t make a purty pict- 
ure o’ her, yez can’t o’ me. Now how long will it 
take yez to put Bridget Mahone in a photagraph ? 
Sit down ? To be shure I’ll sit down, an’ what do 
3^ou suppose I want to sthand up for ? Howld 
sthill ? As sthill as iver I can. Och ! an’ what be 
yez stickin’ in the back o’ my head ? To kape me 
stidy ? Perhaps yez be after thinkin’ I’m too fable 
to howld up me own head. Luk at that card? 
The loikes o’ that ? Faith an’ ye moight give me 
a respectable appearin’ gintleman to luk at. Is it 
over? Shure an’ that was aisy. Well, an’ how 
long will you keep me a-waitin’ for the loikness? 
Two wakes? Ye don’t mane that? Bless me 


22 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


sowl, I must disappint Patsy, the darlint (me 
cousint). I’m after lavin’ him on the corner 
thinkin’ as how I bring the picture in a minute. 
Two wakes? Well I niver heard the loikes o’ 
that. Good day to yez ! Good day to yez ! ” 

Half past three! Mrs. Simpson is due with a 
baby. Experience had painfully taught him that 
babies require peculiarly entertaining surround- 
ings when being photographed. He had, accord- 
ingly, armed himself with a tin whistle, a highly 
colored doll that had manifestly resented being 
danced up and down repeatedly by one of its arms 
or legs, a fascinating jumping Jack, and a rattle 
box that was warranted to bewilder and absorb the 
most perverted infantile imagination. On Mrs. 
Simpson’s appearance with a precious pink and 
white bundle, Bolton eyed his treasures and took 
courage. 

should have come yesterday, it was so sun- 
shiny, but baby was teething, and I was afraid the 
darling would worry. You know how dreadful 
teething is ? The precious pet is three months old, 
and it’s perfectly marvelous how he can talk. Now 
mamma’s cunnin’ love, tell the gemplum oo 
name.” 

“Adle, adle, adle, adle.” 

“ He says his name is Henry Wadsworth Long- 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


23 


fellow Simpson. There, there, ’et mamma wife ’is 
moufh, sweetest moufh that ever lived I Now 
tell the gemplum where papa is.” 

‘‘ Adle, adle, adle.” 

He says his papa’s gone to Boston. Isn’t that 
wonderful? Now when is papa coming hack? 
There’s a darlin’ ! ” 

“ Adle, adle, adle goo — oooo.” 

“ He says papa’s cornin’ home to-night. Mam- 
ma’s blessed I Do you know, I’m so afraid the 
child won’t live that I often can’t sleep from anxi- 
ety. Such bright children are so hard to raise. 
Now I think I’d better hold the treasure, don’t 
you, Mr. Bolton ? If it turns out well, I mean to 
have a crayon made for Mr. Simpson’s Christmas. 
There, there, my precious lamb, don’t oo cry, 
don’t, don’t. Look at the lovely man jumpin’, 
jumpin’ for the baby ! There, there. Now isn’t 
he the sweetest ’ittle thing! Do take it I Quick, 
Mr. Bolton I It’s taken I ” 

[The prodigy is bundled off. Bolton sighs with relief 
and mentally consigns himself to celibacy.] 













' s 


4 


V 


< 

■ \ 


TERRA INCOGNITA 


V 


f 





t 


t 




< 


1 . 


1 





Terra Incognita. 


[Mateel and Sister Aloyscius bend their reverent foot- 
steps chapel -ward to deck a sainted Abbey father’s tomb 
with flowers.] 

Mateel. 

D ear Sister Aloyscius, I have tried 

To do but right. You know how I have plied 
My needle on that ’broidered altar-cloth. 

How can one chain one’s thought ? 

Sister Aloyscius. 

Poor moth! Alas! 

Her tempting flame is the unknown. Dear heart, 
What claims your thought ? Confession will im- 
part 

Resisting power. Mary, Thou of Grace, 

Oh aid me ! Save her ! 

Mateel. 

Can I tell ! You trace 

The color in that flower? My very blood 

Seems conscious of its beauty. See the flood 

Of red it urges to my cheek. I feel 

Its warmth there, while it could not even steal 


25 


26 


ME an’ METHUSELAH 


Reflection in your eye. That bird stirs me 
To wildest impulse with its song, but see — 

You listen all unmoved. These things that lend 
Me such delight you say would surely send 
Me on to joy in evil should I give 
My eye and ear to them. How can one live 
And steel one’s soul, as you have done, ’gainst sin? 
Sister Aloyscius. 

My child, your strife, our prayers, shall vict’ry 
win. 

But you mistake. The flowers, I love. To me 
They ever seem but tender things that He 
Has shaped and colored, perfumed with His 
breath. 

The birds ! I hear their song. To me it saith 
Praise Him, oh praise. To Him all praise. But 
youth, 

Alas, must suffer ere it find the truth. 

Castilian blood flows in your veins, and ’tis 
Oft said that Satan can much quicker his 
Vile fires induce to burn in them than in 
A heart like mine. I claim much calmer kin. 
Your battle is more hard. Be warned by one 
Who suffered in the world, — Mateel, that shun ! 
Live only for the world to come. Rejoice 
In no regret. 0 Mother, hear my voice ! 

Save her from expiation and — regret. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


27 


Mateel. 

Hush ! Brother Leo’s at the organ yet. 

Oh sister, enter softly, lest he cease ! 

Does not his music fill one’s heart with peace ? 

[Within beneath the dimly-lighted arch they pause 
and listen, while as if inspired he drifts from hymn to 
most enchanting strains, whispering of revel uncontrolled 
and dance.] 

Sister Aloyscius. 

Mateel! Why hearken with so rapt a face ? 

Oh most unhallowed in this holy place ! 

Mateel ! Mateel I Your very soul should shrink 
Come child, come quickly I Wake I say ! Think! 
think ! 

[They hasten forth. The sister breathes a prayer. 
Mateel, entranced, bewitched, seeks out her mates.] 

Mateel. 

Alita ! Come ! and Marg’ret, you. Kate dear. 
Bring Ann and Flo ! Janette, come, come ! Just 
hear ! 

My breath is spent in heart beats. Oh, ’twill 
burst 

I think. Our brother Leo’s playing still 
The chapel organ. Oh, I listened till 
Sweet Sister Aloyscius, horrified 
At what enraptured me, in great haste hied 


28 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


Me forth. It seemed his fingers were possessed 
By some fantastic sprite that so expressed 
Its transports of wild joy, perhaps not song 
Or even music. Certain it did not belong 
By nature to the music we have known. 

’Twas like my dream of Spain — of heav’n. A 
tone, 

The last my tense ear caught, vibrating yet 
My every nerve, responsive-like, is set 
A quiver. Words but hamper 1 I can’t tell ! 

But look! — I’ll try — indeed I’ll show you well ! 

[Instinctively she sweeps into a dance of Spain — now 
swift, now slow, or frantic, then dream-like. ] 

Oh gloomy chapel and depressing chants 1 
No more ! Life’s joy’s revealed — to sway — to 
dance ! 

Move quickly from my way, Alita dear ! 

Hush ! Sister Aloyscius’ step I hear I 


DR. BEAN, DENTIST 


I 


Dr. Bean, Dentist. 


N ell always makes irrevelant remarks, but she 
is funny, you know. I begged her to go with 
me to Dr. Bean’s this morning. I had any number 
of teeth to be filled, and my teeth are so dreadfully 
sensitive. I knew she would talk and keep my 
mind off the pain. Well, she did. Dr. Bean 
ushered us into a room, a small room, so small it 
contained only one chair — that unshapely inevit- 
able chair in which one can be elevated to an 
astonishing altitude, or lowered until one has an 
absolutely gone feeling. Then that swinging table 
in front of it, littered with all sorts of instruments 
of torture — oh, I loathe Dr. Bean’s chair! Entre 
nous, I don’t think Nell does. I am sure she pos- 
itively coveted the cavities in my teeth when Dr. 
Bean put his arm about my head — ^just to steady 
it, you know. She’s been poking her teeth ever 
since for fiaws, but they’re as sound as nuts. You 
see Nell isn’t engaged, and Dr. Bean is so eligible. 
Then, too, she loves to make an impression. She 
didn’t begin very well this morning, though. I 


29 


30 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


introduced her with much empressement^ “ Dr. 
Bean, this is my dearest friend, Miss Corn.” 

“How d’y’do, doctor! Isn’t your chamber of 
horrors rather cramped ?” 

I was giggling disgracefully, and the doctor was 
quite discomforted over her reflection on the dimen- 
sions of his room. Dr. Bean is so diffident. 
Wouldn’t you think he’d get over it? He has 
to be so familiar with every one, you know. 

One thing I insisted on before I sat down and 
submitted — Nell must have a chair where I could 
see her, so Dr. Bean resignedly found one and 
located Nell. 

Well, we had a time 1 Dr. Bean says he isn’t 
usually interrupted so often. We happened upon 
the exceptional morning. If he said once, “ Miss 
Bennett, let me have the chair please, just a mo- 
ment,” he said it twenty times. I do believe that 
every tooth-tormented mortal in town appeared, 
determined to share my particular morning. Oh, 
I wish Nell was here to tell you about — why, here 
she is 1 You dear! I was just longing for you to 
come. Do tell Aunt Curtis about our excruciating 
time at Dr. Bean’s ! 

Sallie! Wasn’t that an experience? Isn’t he 
the most fascinating creature? You know, Aunt 
Curtis, men of his age, if they know anything at 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


31 


all, are sure to think themselves perfect Solomons 
as to wisdom, but he— why he’s as unassuming, 
and it’s perfectly wonderful what he can do! 
Have you seen Sallie’s teeth ? Sallie, if you ever 
go to Dr. Bean’s without me — well, I suppose I 
shall be wretched if I don’t go, and miserable if I 
do, for I simply sit and watch and wreak with 
envy. Oh, Sallie, for such a quiet body what a 
rumpus he raises, and what a life he’s led. Did 
you tell Aunt Curtis about that embodied tornado 
we encountered when we went in? No? We 
heard angry voices. Aunt Curtis, and there stood 
that darling doctor reasoning with a — a — regular 
Hibernian Amazon. Doesn’t that just describe 
her, Sallie ? 

“ Niver a cint — niver a cint of it will ye git ! Do 
ye see thim tath? Ain’t that a purty sight? 
Gould, Docthur Bane, gould, ivery blissed wan o’ 
thim. Sure an’ it’s four dintists was afthur fillin’ 
o’ thim, an’ niver a cint did they git. Are ye ony 
more desarvin’ than the loikes o’ thim ? Indade 
ye’re not. Faith I’m afthur thinkin’ ye dintists 
makes yere money too aisy. I’m a cook, Docthur 
Bane, a cook, an’ it’s mony a year I’ve bin makin’ 
swate things an’ spilin’ tath for the loikes o’ ye to 
mind. It’s beholdin’ to Bedelia Sheehan ye are. 
Faith ye moight be considtherin’ that.” 


32 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


Aunt Curtis, you should have seen how that 
darling kept his dignity ! 

“ But, Madam, the bill is reasonable/’ 

“ Rasonable, is it ? Rasonable ! Twinty dollars, 
an’ the savin’s o’ twinty wakes it ’ud take to pay 
it. Tell me this, Docthur Bane, would ye pay 
yere cook the same for the same dale o’ work ? 
Indade, ye would not. An’ it’s niver a cint I’ll 
pay to any one betthur off than meself, an’ mony 
a one I’ll hope ye’ll mate o’ the same moind, thin 
someday, mark my spach, ye’ll see Bedelia Sheehan 
an’ all her frinds a ridin’ about in their own 
coups.” 

Did you ever hear anything so dreadfully auda- 
cious, Aunt Curtis? — and,Sallie, wasn’t he simply 
heroic not to summon a policeman and have her 
arrested on the spot ? 

Well, I must tell you ! Sallie was no sooner 
seated and resigned to misery — she says it’s misery, 
but I can’t imagine how it can be, oh dear ! — than 
that simpering Belle Stanton .appeared. Wasn’t 
she a picture of distress ? She’d been suffering for 
her sins through some grumpy tooth all the week. 
I’m sure she hasn’t an atom of conscience, Aunt 
Curtis. Isn’t that a dispensation of Providence ? 

“ Don’t you think I’d better take gas or some- 
thing, doctor? I can’t stand pain, you know. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


33 


Oh-o-o-oh! Gas is perfectly safe, isn’t it? My 
heart all right? Why, what do you mean, doctor? 
Oh yes, of course. No, I don’t think the gas will 
affect it. Tell me, is one liable to say anything 
one ought not to say? I’m sure I’ve heard of 
people doing most ridiculous things. Oh-o-o-oh ! 
Do you suppose I would ? Oh, isn’t it true ? That 
is a relief. Oh-o-o-oh ! It doesn’t take long, does 
it ? You’re sure I won’t feel it? Hold my head 
tightly, won’t you, doctor? What shall I do? 
Inhale deeply ? Oh-o-o-oh ! ” 

Didn’t she make a fuss, Sallie? When she 
came to the first thing she said was : 

“ What did I do, doctor? Did I say anything? 
What did I say ? ” 

That kind thing assured her that she was as 
quiet as a mouse ( isn’t he considerate, Sallie ? ), 
hut Sallie and I took fiendish delight in exchang- 
ing glances just to make her uncomfortable. She’s 
so inane. Aunt Curtis. 

“ Oh, it was a terrible sensation, doctor. Will 
it come on again now, do you think ? Hadn’t I 
better take a cab home ? ” 

Finally she went, but she looked very uneasily 
at Sallie and me. 

Hadn’t you been in the chair about half an 
hour when that old woman from the country ven- 


34 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


tured in ? Wasn’t she just too quaint? This was 
the burden of her discourse, Aunt Curtis: 

“Not intrudin’, am I? S’pose you’re the den- 
tist. Yes ? Now it’s strange I knew it, hut you 
look it, somehow. Hiram said he didn’t see why 
I shouldn’t have my teeth out and git a new set. 
He’s got such high filutin’ notions, Hiram has. 
He thinks there’s nothin’ like keepin’ up to the 
times. He says to me, ‘ Keep as young as you 
can, ’Mandy, and a good set of teeth goes a long 
way toward makin’ a woman look handsome.’ 
Well, I have been screwin’ up my courage for 
weeks, and here I am. Now if I can have them 
out without knowin’ anything about it, I shall feel 
relieved. Hadn’t I better take ether ? Gas ? You 
don’t say ? Never heard of takin’ gas. And it’s 
just as good? Well, well ! I s’pose I’m likely as 
not to come out of it alright, ain’t I ? I’ve hern 
tell of them effects, and I sez to Hiram, ‘ You may 
be a widower afore night,’ and I wanted to make 
my will (there’s some quilts and things that I 
made with my own hands, and I don’t much relish 
the idea of a second wife’s havin’ ’em), but Hiram 
said there was no use courtin’ misfortune by mak- 
in’ preparations, so I concluded to run the risk. I 
tell you, though, it’s a purty serious step, ain’t 
it ? It’ll be over afore I know it, eh ? Well, I’m 
glad of that.” 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


35 


The doctor has an assistant, of course, hut he 
was out, so that patient dear asked us if we would 
mind helping him a little. The old lady was very 
excited under the influence of the gas, so Sallie 
held her head and I tried to keep possession of 
her hands. We didn’t succeed very startlingly. 
Every now and then she would wrench her hands 
from my grasp, beat her knees and sing, “ Shall 
we gather at the River ? What are you doin’ to 
me ? Shall we gather at the River ? What are 
you doin’ to me ? ” 

Wasn’t it an ordeal, Sallie ? Wasn’t it a study 
to watch for signs of returning consciousness? 
She looked pretty blank for a minute, then she 
exclaimed : 

“ Well, I’ve come to ! I wonder if Hiram ’ll 
be disappointed, why — why — haven’t you pulled 
out my teeth ? Well, I never ! What — why — oh 
— Doctor, I felt every bit of that pain ! Now 
what’s the use of takin’ gas, I’d like to know? 
Well, I’m glad it’s over. Wonder if I’ll be able to 
git home? You don’t mean to say I can’t have 
my new teeth right away? Well, that’s a purty 
how’y’do ! How’m I goin’ to eat or talk ? My! I 
shan’t dare to smile. Hiram will have a laugh at 
me. Eh ? Got to wait for my gums to shrink ? 
Dear land sus ! I don’t know how much more 


36 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


room you want. My mouth feels ’bout as big 
as our barn now. How much do I owe you, 
doctor? Five dollars? You don’t say? Well, I 
brought some butter and cheese and five dozen 
eggs along that I thought ’u’d come to about what 
you’d charge. They’re all as fresh as can be. Do 
make them teeth as quick as you can, doctor. I 
must say I’m much obliged.” 

Aunt Curtis, just imagine that dear, an unmar- 
ried man, you know, being paid in butter and 
cheese and eggs. Isn’t he the very personification 
of good nature ? 

He had been working that (Sallie says unbear- 
able) treddle machine and whirling a wicked look- 
ing tool in her mouth for quite a time, when we 
were suddenly startled out of our equanimity by 
a wail of agony from the outer room. 

“Oh — oh — 0000 ! I say, ma, it don’t ache ! It 
dont ache ! Let me go home ! Oh — oooo ! ” 

Who do you suppose it was, Aunt Curtis? 
Madge Wilson and her irrepressible eldest. You 
know she was the first one of our set to marry. 
She ran away from school to do it of course, but 
she always seems to think it was an achievement 
and affects such an assumption of sorrow over our 
single state. One thing — she hasn’t the slightest 
idea how to manage children. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


37 


“ Boo — hoo — hoooo — it’ll hurt — oh — oooh — I 
can’t ma — boo — hoo — hoo ! Let me go home ! 
Oh — oooh ! ” 

If she’d just given him a good shaking, Sallie. 

‘‘ Mamma’s blessed boy — there — there. Come, 
precious. It won’t hurt. The doctor won’t hurt 
darling. Mamma won’t let him. Come sit in the 
chair and let the doctor see that naughty old 
tooth.” 

“Oh — 00 — oh — where’s he taking me, ma? 
Don’t go, ma ! Boo — hoo — oh — oooh ! What’s 
that for ? 

“ That’s just an instrument, Freddie darling. 
Open your mouth wide like a good boy.” 

“ Boo — hoo I What for ? ” 

“ Just to let the doctor see that bad, bad tooth. 
Come — there’s a dear, brave boy.” 

“ Oh — oooh — I don’t want to. What’s that 
for ? ” 

“ That’s an instrument, precious. Come, open 
your mouth wide.” 

“ What’s an instrument ? Boo — hoohoo ! ” 

“ Come, mamma’s little hero, open your mouth 
wide, then we’ll go and get some nice sweet candy. 
Frederic, open your mouth this minute ! Shall 
mamma have to punish ? ” 

“ Boo — hoo — hoo — boo — hoo — hoo ! Oh — 
oooooh ! ” 


88 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


“ There, there ! My treasure ! Don’t cry. Open 
your mouth and mamma will get a lovely bicycle 
for her pet, as soon as he gets a big boy.” 

“ Boo — hoo — 000 — what for ? ” 

“ Why, darling, a splendid bicycle like Tommy’s. 
Come, think of that. Let mamma look at the 
wicked tooth that hurts her dearest. Look, 
doctor ! ” 

“ Oh — oh — oh — oooh I Boo — hoo — hoo ! I’m 
killed ! I’m killed ! Oh — ooooh ! I want to go 
home ! ” 

Aunt Curtis, you know I don’t believe in Theos- 
ophy, but if ever I have a son, I hoj)e he’ll prove 
a re-embodiment of Stonewall Jackson. I must 
go now — yes, I must. Good-bye, Aunt Curtis. 
Sal lie, look at my teeth ! Can’t you see a single 
cavity ? 


BETWEEN THE ACTS 


Between the Acts. 


XJT one of these roses in my hair, Nuggins. 



1 Just the right bit of color, isn’t it? There — is 

the effect pretty ? Some way I feel more than 
usually anxious to do well to-night. How’s my 
make-up? Too red, eh? This cheek? That’s 
easily fixed. Is my nose too white ? Give me 
that blender, please. There, is that better ? Oh 
dear ! I feel unaccountably nervous. 

La — a — a — la — ah — 

It shows so in my voice, doesn’t it? I must try 
to sing it out. I’ll wear the white gloves, Nuggins. 
There was a button off. Did you sew it on ? 

Tra — la — ^la — la — la, tra — la — ah, tra — ^la — ah — 


Oh my love, 

See the drowsy Apollo 
As he laves in a cloud of wine, 
And shadows stalk in the hollow 
While his purple sweeps the hill; 
But the night has given a promise 
To-morrow will fulfill. 


Sweet song, isn’t it, Nuggins? Can’t you find 
the gloves ? Where did you put them ? Nuggins, 
come here. I’ve a secret to tell you. I’m — I’m 


39 


40 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


going to be married to-morrow ! There — there, 
you dear thing, don’t make such a noise over it. 
Some one will hear you. You’re not to breathe 
it, remember ! Just loosen the tie of that shoe a 
little. No, you mustn’t tell anyone. Oh you 
crazy Nuggins, you’re unlacing it entirely. You 
knew that roses waiting for me every night this 
season meant something serious, now didn’t you ? 
Of course, you did ! Tra — la — la — 

Oh my love, 

Oh my dear one come with me 
To a garden fancy-formed, 

Where hope grows hid in a rose-tree 
With tender buds all ablush, 

And a bird nestles nigh while her mate sings, 
To-morrow, to-morrow ! Hush, hush ! 

Oh my love. 

Oh my dear one my heart sings 
To-morrow, to-morrow ! Hush, hush ! 

Oh Sun-god fly hither on swift wings ! s 

Oh rose-tree bloom fair as a bride ! 

Oh bird proudly chirp to thy nestlings ! 

Oh to-morrow bring thee to my side ! 

Nuggins! Nuggins! Nuggins! Where were 
you? Just draw up this bodice a little, will you? 
Those wrinkles were making my hair turn gray. 
There — now you may go — no, Nuggins I Nuggins ! 
Are you flirting with the gas-man, or what is the 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


41 


matter with you? You’re neglecting me lately. 
I have to call and call for you. Oh well, never 
mind. I don’t mean to he cross. Where is my 
lip-rouge ? Don’t you tell the gas-man my 
secret 1 There’s a chance for a bad pun, Nuggins. 
Did you peep through the curtain? Was that 
exasperating fringed pate that nightly shines 
before my eyes in his customary seat ? 

Oh his head was bald and gleaming, 

But he loved with all true seeming, 

He loved her singing sweet. 

He loved her dancing feet. 

Her dainty and delightful dancing feet ! 

Stop your laughing, Nuggins ! My voice sounds 
better, doesn’t it? I’m glad I’m not on in the 
first act. Now I think I can spare you. 

Oh — isn’t it glorious to be alive ! Everything 
is tinted with the color of these roses to-night. 
Now I must find his message. It’s always some- 
where in the heart of the bouquet, right by the 
center rose. Last night it was so dear. Just — 
“ I love you ! I love you ! ” How I sang after- 
wards ! I think I could find it if I were blind. 
I’ll try with my eyes closed. Now where — where 
is it ? Oh ! what a sharp thorn ! There is no 
message ! Oh — oh — I’m sorry. I miss it. And 
to-night — the last before — Perhaps it dropped 


42 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


out into the box. Nuggins ! Nuggins ! Where 
can she be? Oh, is that you, Mr. Turnetti? 
Have you sung your solo ? No ? The act is on, 
isn’t it? Did the duet get an encore? Flatted 
all through the cadenza — she did ? If you see my 
maid, will you please tell her I’m calling her ? 
Oh, there you are, Nuggins. Did he propose? 
Where is the box that my roses came in? Oh 
yes, — you didn’t see a note when you took them 
out, did you? Were there any letters? What 
two? A¥here are they? On my table? Why 
didn’t you tell me? You can go again now if 
you like. 

Yes — ^his writing! He has sent a letter instead 
of the rose-message. Who can this be from ? I 
must see — 

^'Danceuse fair ! ’’ 

Ha, ha, ha 1 Danceuse ! 

^‘Danceuse fair ! Sweet spirit of song, 

At whose altar I’ve worshipped long, 

Bend thy loved glances. 

Though sharp their lances. 

On this poor slave who worships afar ! ” 

Oh yes, I know — second row from the front, 
orchestra — ugh ! Now my letter — my precious 
letter 1 How happy I am I How happy — 

“Dear One: 

This is to say good-bye and— forgive me. I am 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


43 


giving you up for them — for my father and mother.” 

Oh oh 

“ Their hopes are centered in me, and they represent my 
duty. I’ve realized it, though at this moment I hate 
them as I love you. To-day I told them our story as I 
promised you I would. I hoped they would open their 
hearts to you, but — I can not tell you ! It was terrible ! 
My father convinced me that our union would certainly 
kill my mother, and estrange him from me forever. You 
know what that means. Good-bye, dear one, and forget 
me. I shall never forget you, though this good-bye 
thrusts eternity between us ! ” 

Oh — oh — cruel ! Good-bye ! Oh — I feel so ill 
— so ill. I must not — I must not think of it ! I 
must not think of it I I have to sing — to sing. 
No one must know! How could he wri — 
write — that ? If he loved me, how could 
he ? How could he ? Oh, he didn’t write it, he 
didn’t, he didn’t 1 I can’t believe it 1 What ? 
Yes — yes — who is it? Oh — is tha — that you. 
Jack ? Am I “ decent ” ? Why yes, yes, of 
course. Come in ! My ! what a break-down ! 
You are getting on. You’ll be turning out a 
specialty artist next. Is the curtain — the curtain 
down? What? Oh no — no — no — nothing is the 
matter. I’m out of sorts to-night. Tell me about 
yourself. They like you, don’t they ? I knew 
they would. I was sure the work would be play 


44 


ME an’ METHUSELAH 


for you. What? No — don’t say that, Jack. 
Good of me to take notice of you when I’m great 
and you’re nobody ? Why Jack, I’m not great 
and you’re not nobody. I don’t forget the time 
when we starved in opposite attics, when my 
father neglected me, and your mother beat you. 
We shared crusts then. Jack. Why Jack, the 
long ago would have been all shadow and sorrow 
if it hadn’t been for you. Thinking of it is like 
looking into a chamber of memory where all is 
dark, dark save for one friendly light. You hold 
that light, Jack, and it will never go out. There ! 
Arn’t you ashamed of yourself — you are making 
a comic opera singer cry. Ha, ha, ha! Oh Jack, 
I’m so blue to-night. I feel as if I couldn’t sing 
a note. Oh, how can I — how can I ? 

Eh? What was that? Oh, is that you. Miss 
Costello? Heigho! How’s your bflat? Here’s 
mine — ah ! Off the key, am I ? What does she 
know about keys? Well, if I can’t sing, I can 
act, can’t I, Jack? Jack, I think I’ll leave the 
opera for the drama. Wouldn’t you ? Ha,ha,ha, 
ha! Wait a moment, and I’ll do a scene for you! 
You stand there for the audience. Jack. Now 
suppose — suppose that I’m a struggling singer, 
that I’ve no friends, and I don’t know the mean- 
ing of home, but I’ve a voice and I win my way. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


45 


Then suppose — suppose, Jack, that I’m — loved, 
and — respected, and the world is transformed for 
— I love. Then, oh then suppose that he tells me 
to forget him, that I know I must forget him 1 
How can I live — how can I live — how can I live ! 
Where is his letter? Yes — yes — see — he gives me 
up for them, for his father and mother ! Duty ! 
No — no — he loved me less than them. Oh I hate 
him and them ! I hate them ! I hate them ! 
Oh — ah — Ja — Jack — Jack! Why — why do you 
look at me like that ? Didn’t I tell you I could 
act ? Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Oh go now, Jack, go 1 
I’m so hysterical. I must pull myself together or 
I won’t be able to sing. See — I’ve ruined my 
make-up! Go, Jack, go! Come again — again. 
Jack ! 

Oh what must he think — what must he think ? 
What did I say — what did I say ? He looked so 
frightened. I must act myself— as I did when — 
when I was happy. My eyes are all blurred* 
They will be noticed ! My hand trembles so — 
how can I fix them? That rose! Oh — I — can’t 
wear it! Where is that letter? I must put it 
away. It might be seen. Where can Nuggins 
be ? Oh I can’t sing — I can’t, I can’t ! She must 
tell them I am ill. Oh — my heart is breaking, 
breaking ! 


46 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


[She throws herself forward on the table, in desperate 
grief. There is a faint cry of fire, but she sobs on 
unheeding. The cries grow louder, mingled with the 
sounds of burning timber. Still she is unconscious of 
them.] 

He said his mother would die. I shall die ! 
Is that nothing to him ? Oh he was right — right, 
but how can I bear it 1 

What was that? What — fire? They are cry- 
ing fire ! Nuggins ! Nuggins ! Why, there is 
smoke in the room ! Nuggins ! Oh what is the 
matter with the door — ugh ! The smoke is 
stifling ! Great God ! The hall is in flames ! 
They have forgotten me ! I can not pass through 
it — but I must! No — no — impossible! What 
shall I do ! What shall I do ! Nuggins ! Jack ! 
Jack ! Ah — ah — it scorches me ! I must close the 
door again. I can’t — I can’t! Help — oh help 
me ! I must keep my wits about me. That win- 
dow — yes, I can reach it. How does it open — 
how does it open ? Oh — how could they forget 
me ? I can’t open it — I can’t — I can’t ! Yes, it’s 
starting — oh — thank God ! Oh the smoke — the 
smoke — I can see nothing ! It is black — black as 
death! Help — help! Oh help! No one hears me. 
I — I must— jump ! There is nothing else. My roses 
— I wish I had them. The flames have touched 
them already. I must— jump. God help me ! 


THE MATRIMONIAL MANOEUVERS 
OF MAJOR MUSKET 













The Matrimonial Manoeuvers of 
Major Musket. 


H e lost a rebel right eye, right arm and left 
leg during our late war. Besides being so 
abbreviated physically he had no kin that he 
could discover, and the purpose of his buffeted 
existence proved a baffling problem to him, until 
one astonished day when he fell heir to the attenu- 
ated property of a remote relative in New England. 
He did not pause to dissect good fortune, but 
moved north-east at once. There he lived, cared 
for by an Argus-eyed housekeeper until social 
starvation drove him to desperation. Hungry 
and thirsty for companionship he finally resorted 
to the daring expedient of advertising for a wife. 

A Tuesday morning is well under way. The 
Major has breakfasted dutifully but absentmind- 
edly. He is obviously a changed man. The 
places of his departed members have been filled 
with all the grace within the possibility of wood. 
A would-be eye shines beautifully, if somewhat 
glassily. What more could be desired ? The 


47 


48 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


morning paper proved absorbing. He has scanned 
it with the zest of a contributor. 

“ Here it is, here it is. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Not a 
bit bad, Major. Not a bad bit o’ bait. Ha, ha! 
Not bad for a remnant who has only one leg to 
kick at adversity, one eye to read the future and 
one arm to embrace happiness. Ha, ha, ha ! 
Not bad, not bad I 

W ANTED. — A wife. AVanter, a Southern officer of 
snug fortune. AVantee, must be womanly and 
companionable. Please call Tuesday morning between 
ten and twelve at No. 20 Muster Square. 

“ Csesar ! It’s ten o’clock now, or I miss aim. 
Hie there, McCarroty, what time it is ? ” 

“ Moi goodness. Major, what a voice ye have. 
It’s jist afthur strikin’ tin.” 

“ Sure ’nough, sure ’nough. McCarroty, ahem- 
ahem ! I’m — ah — I’m — ah — expecting a visitor, 
several visitors, a regiment of them in fact.” 

“ Yis sir, ye don’t say.” 

“ And McCarroty, I propose to but one at a 
time, — ah-ahem — that is to say — you show them 
to the ah — to the library, and I’ll see them in 
turn.” 

Yis sir. (A rigimint o’ visitors cornin’ is it, 
an’ I’ll swear by me savin’s he don’t know a sowl 
in the city.) ” 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


49 


“What’s this. Major, what’s this? No white 
feather, Major. You’re on the field. Your heart 
is up in full uniform ready for conquest. What 
does it matter if you do feel like a restored ruin ? 
Who could detect it, now I say, who could detect 
it ? Eh ? There goes the bell ! McCarroty, not 
at home ! not at home, I say ! McCarroty, not at 
home I Hush — no ? False alarm. Courage, 
Major, courage ! See ! the lady enters, and you 
bow low — bow low — there — now. The smoke 
clears, and you fire your first volley. 

“ Madame, you had but to come to conquer. 
“ Great guns ! McCarroty, what are you after 
now ? ” 

“ If ye plase, I’m afthur usherin’ in the top wan 
o’ yere rigimint, an’ thim was yere orders I’m 
thinkin’! What a pair o’ lungs ye have, to be 
sure ! Here’s a lady that be askin’ to see ye. 
Yere name agin, if ye plase, mum?” 

“ Houghtaling.” 

“ Houghtofing, Major Musket.” 

“ That will do, McCarroty. Miss — ah — Miss 
Houghtaling ? ” 

“Ifrs. Houghtaling, Mr. — Mr. — ” 

“ Major Musket, Mrs. Houghtaling. You — ah 
— you — ahem ! you read the papers I see, Mrs. 
Houghtaling.” 


50 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


“ Yes, it’s a lonely life I’d lead if it wasn’t for 
the papers. Mr. Houghtaling always read the 
papers, and I couldn’t do better than walk in his 
footsteps.” 

‘‘Of course, of course. May I inquire if his 
footsteps have ceased to fall, madame ? ” 

“ Yes sir, they have, sir ! Did you take me for 
a divorced woman, a divorced woman, sir ? ” 

“ No, no, madame, certainly not, certainly not.” 
“ Yes, he’s no more, no more. And the unsel- 
fishness of that man. Major Musket ! Why, life’s 
worth living just to know it. With his last breath 
he told me to marry again if I could find any- 
one to have me, and not to think he would be un- 
easy with someone else in his boots. ’Twas 
enough to know they wouldn’t fit (he wore tens, 
sir); and speaking of boots reminds me, he gave 
and bequeathed his new winter overcoat to his 
successor, whoever he might be. I have it put 
away in camphor with some other things you can 
perhaps make use of. He was so generous, al- 
ways thinking of others, I felt all along that he 
was too good to live. His dying request was that 
his picture, a large crayon, sir, should always be 
left hanging beside mine over the parlor mantel, 
and I do believe that at the resurrection day he’ll 
think his claim ought to come first, and I am 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


51 


satisfied in the conviction that if my second hus- 
band attempts to carry a high hand with me, 
Leander Houghtaling’s spectre will appear to him 
and raise a finger of warning. There ! I felt it 
was my duty to tell you all, and now I think we 
understand each other, don’t we, my dear — 
Major?” 

“ Oh, yes, madame, I’ve no doubt of it, none in 
the world. I don’t wish to seem ungallant, but 
the fact is, I’ve a rooted antipathy to widows. 
This doesn’t refer to you in particular, Mrs. 
Houghtaling, but to all widows in general. I 
don’t stand in immediate need of your husband’s 
legacy, and overcoat and boots. You see I wish 
my portrait to hang over the parlor mantel, in 
short, madame, I want first claim at the resurrec- 
tion day ! ” 

“ Oh, no doubt you’re very right, sir. I’ve 
humiliated myself to a very inappreciative person 
I see, sir. Ah — many a day will pass before I 
meet another Leander Houghtaling ! ” 

“ Good-morning, Mrs. Houghtaling ! ” 

“ Good-day, Mr. Musket ! ” 

“ Overcoat, boots, and a ghost I Well, I think 
not. This is more than I bargained for.” 

“ Miss Millie Muffin, Major Musket.” 

“ How do you do ? Yes, Millie Muffin is my 
name — Millena, you know. This is so embarrass- 


52 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


ing. I hardly realized or I think I shouldn’t 
have had the courage — ” 

“ Nothing to be afraid of, miss.” 

‘‘Oh, no, I’m sure of that. You see I read 
your advertisement, and my soul, unconsciously 
craving for its companion, instantly recognized 
our affinity of spirit. Yes, I felt it at once so 
powerfully that I seemed to see you and I, in a 
vision, floating through space, and I composed 
a poem directly on the subject. It was some- 
thing like this, — 

I soar, I soar, but not alone. 

Another’s spirit all unknown 
Glides close beside. 

To be his bride 

On terra firma some day soon, 

I sink, I sink to seek that boon. 

I saw , I saw his soldier eye 
Gleam like a hero’s brave to die 
Besieged, my heart 
Will burst apart. 

Alas ! an an'ow stingeth there. 

I sleep, I sleep to drown despair. 

I wake, I wake. What’s this, what’s this? 

It is, it is my Bayard’s kiss ! 

United we 
Now soon will be. 

Chembic Cupids circling stay 
To chant upon our wedding day. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


53 


You see I am a devoted disciple of the new 
school of poetry. Yes, I’m a symbolist. I know 
you would enjoy reading my last story, ‘Woman 
versus Cupid.’ It is so sad and my soul whispers 
that you are sympathy personified. When we 
are — one, you, and you alone, shall read my man- 
uscripts. I’ve really never thought about — marry- 
ing before. You see, I’ve been ever wedded to 
poetry.” 

“I’m sorry to-ah-to-disappoint you, miss, but, 
ah-but I object to literary people. Yes, that is to 
say, I object to them.” 

“ What do I hear ? Object ? Oh no, it’s in- 
credible! This is but another dream. Have I 
mistaken this Philistine for the mate of my soul ? 
What shall I do? The situation is so compro- 
mising. You won’t consider me your betrothed, 
will you ? Oh, release me, sir 1 I throw the ring 
I might have worn at your feet. A man with no 
poetry in his soul! — I would rather marry a 
Pagan ! ” 

“You are free to marry an anthropophagus, if 
you like, miss. Good-moming ! 

“ Thunder and Mars I What next ? I’m on a 
matrimonial pedestal but it’s crumbling beneath 
me. A prop, or I shall fall back into bachelor- 
dom and — stay there forever. Who now ? How 


1 


54 ME an’ methuselab 

d’y’do, sir? What can I do for you ? I’m rather 
busy this — 

Oh yes, I seed you was purty busy, but I 
thought I’d better say what I had t’ say afore 
that ’ere galaxy uv beauty outside started in. 
You had a paragraph in this mornin’s paper that 
took my eye. Yes, it did. I said. I’ll go in town 
and interview that chap. He seems a likely sort. 
You see, ’bout a year ago I married a widow. 
(Take my advice, young man, don’t marry a 
widow. When they’re maids, they’re sweet and 
sour. Well, the first feller is liable to get all the 
sweet, and you get all the sour.) I’ve had to 
father the first fellar’s children, and I’ve got a 
step-darter that ’u’d jest take your eye. Purty 
perticular? That’s right, so’m I. There’s been 
one or two bangin’ round of late, an’ that green- 
horn o’ farmer Barker’s is sort o’ shinin’ up to 
her, but I’m purty sartin I’d have ’em both to 
support ef she married him, so I don’t favor the 
match. Now ef you’n me kin come to terms, 
you kin start in sparkin’ as soon as you like. 
Ma’n me ’ll shut one eye ’n keep t’other open to 
help you on. Perhaps ye’re one uv the bashful 
sort, eh ? That’s a great affliction. Worse to git 
over than stutterin’. Proposin’ ’s purty ticklish 
business. Now may be I can give you some val- 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


55 


erable points ’bout poppin’ the question. There’s 
no use uv goin’ down on your knees an’ pleadin’. 
That sets a girl too high up in her own opinion, 
’n, ten to one she’ll jest the same as keep you 
there all the rest uv yer life. ’Nother thing, I 
don’t b’lieve in philanderin’ ’round fer a year or 
more, till the old man comers you, ’n wants to 
know what yer intentions are. Now in the case 
uv ma ’n me, I jest kept a cool head, ’n came 
straight to the point, ’n she — why, gosh darn it — 
she couldn’t said yes quicker ef I’d been a match 
’n she a fire-cracker. Sez I, ‘Sally, ye’re the 
woman fer me ’n I won’t have no other.’ Sez she, 
‘ Si, ye’re the man fer me, ’n I don’t want no 
other.’ But you don’t seem perticularly pleased 
over my propersition. Well, I won’t hurry you. 
You jest think it over ’n let me know. Si.Kinney, 
Esquire, Skokorat, ’ll reach me. There’s some- 
body else clamorin’ to git in so I guess I’ll git 
out. Good-momin’, sir.” 

“Ah, zis is ze gentleman. Oh, monsieur, how 
can I give you ze tanks. You have spoken to zis 
heart. She is — what you call him — wide awake. 
A soldier of you South ? Ah grand, magnificent ! 
Ah, monsieur, you have lost ze arm. Eh bien, 
mine shall be yours. I will too be monsieur’s 
crutch. No? Ah oui, oui, monsieur. Let me 


56 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


show you. Zis arm on my shouldar. Now ! Can 
we not travel avec happiness? No? No? Ah, 
monsieur. I see you are cruel. You are ze 
coquette ! Ah mon coeur! what will you know of 
torture. Zis man has brought you to his house 
to make a jolly good — good-ha-ha-ha-of your 
love.” 

“Madame! Mademoiselle — ” 

“ Oui — oui ! Vous avez raison! Mademoiselle. 
I was made in ze heaven pour vous. I live — I do 
not love. I read ze paper — I love. I see monsieur 
— ah, mon dieu ! I see us tres happy with that — 
what you say — fortune snug. If ze fortune is not 
enough snug, we will somethings. Oui, we wilt 
make ze bonnets, tres joli, for ze ladies. Ah zal 
window shall be charmante. And monsieur, — he 
shall teach to use ze sword as he did in ze grand 
battle. Ah, shall we not be in ze bliss ! ” 

“Wee, wee, mademoiselle! I’m not well to- 
day. I’m out of— of sorts. I’m in no condition 
to talk, comprenez ? Excusez moi, si’l vous plait 
— I’m — I’m — j’ai mal !” 

“No — no — monsieur! That is not so? I 
should be by monsieur’s side to feed ze gruel et 
ze pills. No ? You refuse ? ” 

“ Wee, wee! Allez ! allez vous ! ” 

“Ah, monster! You have broken zis heart! 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


57 


You have broken zis heart. Adieu, adieu! Oh 
monster, you are a brute 1 ” 

“ For de lor’ sake I I nebber seed so many 
young wimmin afore in all my life. You jes 
lemme pass girl! What’s the mattah wid yo’ 
anyhow? Good mawnin’, massa. Wait a minute, 
massa! Yo’ see, massa, I was readin’ de paper 
dis mawnin’! an’ my eye lit on yo’r advertisement, 
an’ I obsarved — What’s dis yere ? What’s dis yere? 
Yere’s a poor man in dis civilized locality, livin’ by 
hisself, cookin’ his own food,washin’ his own dishes, 
sweepin’ de floors, an’ mendin’ his own clothes. 
Lor’ knows, maybe he’s as ragged as a tramp, an’ 
all dis for de need ob a wife. I tell you’ massa, 
my heart jes ris right up in my throat. I 
thought about de ole place down South an’ I was 
dat homesick I jes couldn’t eat my breakfas’. 
I’ve been tastin’ corn-bread an’ possum eber since. 
Now I reckoned yo’ was a gentlemen ob color, 
massa, an’ seein’ as how I was Mrs. Crumption 
an’ a preacher’s widow, I thought maybe yo’d 
take a shine to me, an’ I been picturin’ us goin’ 
han’ in han’ through de res ob our natural libes. 
Yo’ don’t need to speak massa ! I see by yo’r 
countenance dat dis yere darkey’s dream’s dis- 
pelled foreber. But don’t you fo’git, massa, if dat 
yere red-headed creature dat tinks she owns 


58 


ME an’ METHUSELAH 


yo’ wid a picket fence roun’ yo’, eber gibs yo’ 
cause fo’ tribulation, yo’ jes’ sen’ mighty quick fo’ 
Pearlie Lafayette Crumption.” 

The Major saw Pearlie Lafayette Crumpton de- 
part and sat down in an agony of conflicting 
emotions, relief at what he had survived, trepida- 
tion at what he had still to undergo. 

“The rare o’ yere rigimint is layin’ in wait for 
ye. Major.” 

“ Put ’em out, McCarroty ! Turn the guns on 
’em I Don’t let me even see their colors, Mc- 
Carroty ! ” 

“ Their colors, their colors, is it ? Ha, ha, ha I 
They’re white, the rist o’ thim, on me honor. 
Major. Can’t I trate you to jist a peep at thim ? ” 

“Put ’em out! Put ’em out, McCarroty! 
What am I? Fool, dolt, idiot! What was I? 
A good soldier in comfortable ambuscade. What 
do I do ? Build a big bonfire, and betray myself 
to the enemy of man. Well — well — McCarroty ! 
Don’t tell me thy ’re too much for you.” 

“ Oi’ve routed the rare. Major, but I must say, 
sir, ye expect a good dale of wan wake Irish 
woman.” 

“Unarmed at that, weren’t you, McCarroty? 
So was I. You deserve a pension, McCarroty ! ” 

“ Major, a word wid ye, if ye plase. Oi’ve sus- 
picioned ye ! ” 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


59 


‘‘What, McCarroty?” 

“Oi’ve suspicioned ye! Ye obtained me and 
me sar vices under pretinces.” 

“What McCarroty, you’re not going to desen — 
not desert, McCarroty?” 

“What do ye desarve, Major Musket? Whai 
was there about ye to tell a confidin’ woman loike 
meself that ye were a marryin’ man? It reflects 
on me past sarvices, sir, for ye to be wantin’ to 
marry. I object to sarvin a marryin’ man I ” 

“McCarroty, I’m a marrying man no longer!” 


r 




\ 


t 







.1 





AN AMERICAN GIRL 
AT AN ENGLISH DINNER PARTY 


An American Girl at an English 
Dinner Party. 

T Mrs. Bertie Partington-Parker’s dinner I 



was a nonentity, but it is the privilege of 
even an atom to circulate, and that I did gleaning 
enjoyment. Bel Street, my American cousin, was 
the guest of honor and sat scintillating at the 
right of our host. Now I’m English, but I’ve 
crossed so often that I’m perfectly familiar with 
the geography, customs and languages of the 
United States. It was Bel’s first visit to London, 
and her first dinner out there, consequently she 
was wide-eyed with an extensive expectation. 

A be-monicled, indigestible young man took me 
out and sat between Bel and me. Bel’s vis-d-vis 
was a tall, thin young lady who dined in her 
gloves, and I observed Bel mentally wonder if it 
was the correct thing. When the thin young 
lady first spoke we were alarmed. She ran an 
interrogative crescendo up to about high C where 
she gave a tiny shriek, then an expostulating 
diminuendo down to a struggling gutteral some- 


6i 


62 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


where about G flat, and she continued these vocal 
gymnastics throughout the dinner. 

A vase fllled with purplish orchids partially hid 
from me an old lady and gentleman. I could see, 
though, that they were so intent on eating that 
they never spoke from soup to cheese. She wore 
a cap remarkable for its utter lack of contour, 
several necklaces that half revealed and half con- 
cealed her wrinkles, and all the family heirlooms 
on exhibition across her corsage. 

Then there was a man named Barthold, who 
wrote. He admired George Moore and couldn’t 
see any reason for Meredith’s existence. He was 
convinced that the moral screw of the universe 
was irreparably loose and Moore could prove it. 

There were a few others, notably one, a musi- 
cian, whose future as a heavenly harpist is cer- 
tainly assured. 

The first course was evidently pre-arranged to 
place Bel perfectly at home. 

Our host explained, 

“ These little-neck clams arrived yesterday on 
the Teutonic for a temporary sojourn in London. 
Hope the voyage hasn’t interfered with their 
power to please the palate.” 

“ Clams ! Little-neck clams ! Really ! What 
curious creatures, to be sure. They are creatures. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


63 


arn’t they ? Now, do you know, I’m just a wee 
bit afraid of them ? ” vocalized the lady in gloves. 

“ Creatures ! ” (the clams survived creditably a 
monicled scrutiny). “By Jove, to be sure ! Oh I 
say, clever idea of yours, old fellow. Do your 
marketing in America, eh ? Send a cable every 
morning, I dare say. Awfully interesting, this. 
Quite an experience, don’t you know.” 

“ Oh, Miss Street,” piped her vis-d-vis, “ do tell 
me, — I’m sure I’ve heard that you have in Amer- 
ica a remarkable dish made of clams. Now what 
is it called? Ctch — tch — chowder? Yes, I be- 
lieve it’s chowder. Do tell me how it’s made.” 

“Chowder? Oh yes, chowder is one of our 
delectables. Made ? Oh I’m sure I can’t say, — a 
little of this, a little of that, in fact, a little of 
everything.” 

“ Really, I’m afraid I shouldn’t approach it 
with much confidence.” By this time the gloves 
were animated with sherry and gesticulated 
stiffly. “ Oh, Miss Street, I met a countryman of 
yours yesterday, a Mr. Starter. I’ve no doubt you 
know him. ” 

“Mr. Starter? No, I think not. Where was 
he from ? ” 

“ Now where was he from ? Mamma, where 
was Mr. Starter from? Oh yes, Tch-Tch-Tchi- 


64 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


cago, I think it was. You have a Tchicago ?” 

“ Chicago ? Yes, we have a Chicago, a small 
place about a thousand miles from where I live.’^ 
‘‘ Oh — oh— you Americans ! You are so funny. 
Just hear her speak of such a tremendous distance 
with positively flippant unconcern ! I can never 
comprehend you Americans ! ” 

“You are neglecting your wine. Miss Street,” 
interrupted our host. 

“ I’m not self-possessed enough to do it justice,” 
regretted Bel. 

“ Oh I say,” ventured Mr. Monicle, in a protest- 
ing undertone, “ this is a burning shame. I’m 
famishing. Course after course of be-truffled 
poisons. Suicidal to touch them. If something 
plain and unvarnished doesn’t come soon, I shall 
have to dine again when I get to my chambers. 
You haven’t any, have you. Miss Street ? ” 

“ What haven’t I ? ” 

“ Digestion.” 

“ Oh yes, I have. You haven’t.” 

“ Oh — ah — of course. Perhaps you’re right. 
Very good that. It’s my liver. It inherited a 
nasty disposition from two generations of torpid 
ancestors. India, you know.” 

“India? Dreadful place!” sang the spare 
young lady. “ Don’t mention India, Ruinous 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


65 


climate ! What sort of climate have you in 
America, Miss Street ? ” 

“ Indeed, you can find any sort of climate with 
us. Now in Florida, it is almost tropical.” 

“ Oh yes, of course. I didn’t refer to Florida. 
I mean to say just the United States.” 

“ Oh — ahem — well California — ” 

“ Oh dear no, not California — the United 
States.” 

The monicle was adjusted. 

“ Oh I say. Miss Street, the lady opposite can’t 
get beyond the thirteen original colonies. Deuced 
shame. Stupid party.” 

“ Are you anti-salt. Miss Street ? ” inquired our 
host. 

“No, but I’ve an uncle, an old philosopher, 
who is. He thinks that the entire human race 
is too salty, and he won’t allow its use at his 
table.” 

“ What an extremist ! Take salt from me, and 
I should deteriorate physically to the consistency 
of a jelly fish and morally to the standard of a 
Fiji. No spices either, I suppose. Now, what 
would Barthold over there do without spice? I 
say, old fellow, it took years of intimate inter- 
course with pepper to evolve that article of yours 
in this week’s Illustrated^ 


66 


ME an’ METHUSELAH 


“ Mr. Barthold writes,” volunteered Mr. Monicle 
to Bel and me. 

“ What are the principal English magazines? ” 
inquired Bel. 

“ Such a lot of them, don’t you know. Let me 
see — why yes, of course, — the Century. 

“ Pardon me,” objected Bel, “that is American.” 

“You don’t say ! Is it now? Oh, to be sure! 
Well— LTarper’s.” 

“ No, no, Harper^s is American.” 

“ Ah yes. One gets these rubbishy things con- 
founded. Now you surely wont say the Pall Mall 
is American, will you ? ” 

“ No, but its editor is, will he nil ^e,” laughed 
Bel. 

“ Do you write. Miss Street?” asked Mr. Part- 
ington-Parker. 

“Nothing that pretends to anything. Letter- 
writing is my limit.” 

“ What is your forte, Miss Street? (Solo allegro 
from the lady opposite.) You Americans are so 
clever. You all do something. I’m positive you 
sing. I sing, you know. My voice is in bad 
form, but you shall hear my new song, one of 
Tosti’s own. He taught it me, of course. Mrs. 
Partington-Parker always insists on my singing. 
She is so irresistible, you know.” 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


67 


“ Everybody sings here. The question of capa- 
bility isn’t considered for a suffering second. 
Awful state of things, don’t you know,” com- 
plained Mr. Monicle. ‘‘ I hope you don’t sing. 
Miss Street.” 

“ Miss Street recites charmingly,” said I. 

Really, — ah — indeed. Charmed to hear you, 
Miss Street, I’m sure.” 

Half an hour later, when the men, smoke- 
satiated, sauntered to the drawing-room, we heard 
Tosti’s fledgling voice his song. She refused to 
commence before, needing the sustaining interest 
of the masculine element. She shyed each telling 
note at Mr. Monicle, who, being of sensitive fiber 
musically, writhed in a corner. 

Then Bel recited something brief and fetching, 
after which Mr. Barthold approached her, seem- 
ingly steered by sheer surprise. 

“ Charming, Miss Street! When I heard you 
were going to recite I tried to escape, gracefully of 
course, but I suddenly found myself laughing up- 
roarously, and in a moment you had finished. 
Our elocutionists invariably bore one for at least 
twenty minutes, and they always recite something 
about nailing the flag to the mast, don’t you 
know.” 

I thought we had better depart wnile Bel was 


68 ME an’ METHUSELAH 

on the top wave of popularity, so after the usual 
lingering, wordy ceremonies, we were soon snug 
in a hansom, and I called up to the “cabby,” 
“ The Langham please.” 


A YOUNG MAID AND— AN OLD MAID 







A Young Maid and — An Old Maid. 


June 6, 187i. 


HE fact is, I’m afraid to open this letter. He 



1 wasn’t a bit interesting last evening. He 
was so serious and — well, personal. I hoped 
I wouldn’t see or hear from him again until he 
had indulged himself in another frame of mind. 
It appears that he went home and put all the seri- 
ousness he had left over into a letter, and here’s the 
letter. When he’s hopeful he runs my name up- 
hill until there’s no room for the stamp. When 
he’s jealous he’s angular, and Jenny looks like 
Jemimy, and he crosses the t ” with a splutter. 
Then when he’s hopeless he runs down hill, and 
Miss Jenny Tuttle Trumbell looks as if she would 
lose her balance and tumble into 60 Temple 
Street. But now all the loops are big and round 
and solemn, and he writes straight ahead as if he 
were dead in earnest. 

Well, I suppose I must read it. Gracious ! 
what tough paper. There ! Now what does he 
say? 


69 


70 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


Deak Jennie: — You said last night that I was a mere 
hoy. I’ve made a few inquiries and I find that I’m a 
year and a half older than you are. You are the sweet- 
est sixteen a fellow ever saw. I’ve thought you so for a 
long time. I wish you would promise to be sweeter to 
me than to anyone else for always. You know what I 
mean. Will you? I’ve only three yearn more at college. 
IVill you wait for me? 

Yours anxiously, 

Carl. 

Why, he has proposed — actually proposed! 
My first proposal! It isn’t a bit hke what I 
thought it would be. I expected the paper would 
be scorched by burning words or something like 
that, and he doesn’t even say he is in love with 
me. Let me see — what does he say? “ You are 
the sweetest sixteen ” — Sixteen ! I shall be eigh- 
teen next May! The idea! Kathryn was twenty 
when she had her first chance. I can’t be in love. 
I haven’t one of her symptoms. She used 
to spend all her time writing letters or watching 
for the postman. How papa used to tease her and 
talk about his son-in-law just to see her blush, 
and mamma plumed herself as if she were proud 
of her eldest’s conquest. Cousin Tom used to 
hide and listen to their love-making and report it 
all faithfully to miserable me. I thought Kathrjrp 
the most important, most-to-be-envied person 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


71 


in the whole world. Finally I asked Tom if he 
didn’t think he ought to propose to me, but he 
said, “ Don’t be a gosling ! ” Mamma said my 
turn would come, well it has! No one seems to 
have observed it approaching. Papa never says, 
with a twinkle in his eye, “ Is Mr. Converse com- 
ing this evening ? ” and mamma never suggests 
sweetly, “Jane, why not wear your pretty blue 
with blush roses to-night.” In fact, nobody rea- 
lizes that I’m in the matrimonial market. They 
will persist in thinking I’m a baby in long 
clothes and socks. It is so trying to be the 
youngest. 

Suppose I should accept him. He would go to 
papa and say, “ Mr. Trumbell, I’ve called to ask 
for your daughter Jenny’s hand in marriage.” 

Fancy papa’s face ! He would exclaim, “What, 
■what! Jenny, my little Jane! Nonsense, non- 
sense ! Why my boy, she’s nothing but a child. 
Couldn’t think of letting her marry for ten years 
or more ! ” , I wonder if Carl would have the 
courage to argue it out with him. 

Then if mamma’s eyes were opened to my pos- 
sibilities, how she would cry over her baby Jane 
and say, “ Why, she was a child only yesterday ! ” 

And I — what am I going to say ? By all the 
established precedents, I’m not a bit in love with 


72 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


Carl, but then I’m not in love with anyone else. 
Wait three years for him? In three years I will 
be twenty. I’ve heard very sound reasons ad- 
vanced for not marrying until one is nearly thirty. 
I overheard one of Kathryn’s friends, it was Sara 
Stuart, talking about early marriages, and she 
didn’t believe in them. She said that one missed 
all the fun there was in life, and grew old long 
before one’s time. Kathryn afterwards remarked 
to mamma that it was lucky Sara thought as she 
did since she was twenty-eight and had no pros- 
pect of marrying. I noticed, though, that Kath- 
ryn has — yes, wrinkles, deep lines about her 
mouth, while Sara’s face is as smooth as mine. 
I wonder if I have any lines. No — no — not a 
hint of one. I suppose one might come there 
where that dimple is, but I don’t see how. 

Well, every thing seems to go into the scale 
against my accepting Carl. Papa and mamma 
would prefer to keep me shaking a rattle. I’m 
not in love, and I should like all the fun there is 
to be had, and no lines. 

Another thing, I can’t endure Dr. St. John. 
Mamma wouldn’t think Carl and I were securely 
bound unless Dr. St. John tied the knot. He was 
simply brutal at Kathryn’s wedding. She had 
scruples about “ and to obey.” She asked him 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


73 


not to insist upon her saying it because she knew 
she should do just as she had a mind to after she 
was married, and she didn’t like to tell a false- 
hood. Well, when they reached that point in the 
service, he said, “ To love, cherish, and to obey — ” 
Kathryn repeated, “ To love and cherish — ” 
“And to obey,” he insisted, and he said it over 
four times until poor Kathryn had to repeat it to 
avoid a regular scene. I was furious, and I vowed 
I’d never be married while there was any chance 
of his conducting things. If I wait until I’m 
twenty-eight, we may have another rector. 

If Carl weren’t so jealous, we might be secretly 
engaged, but just picture the air of proprietorship 
he would wear about. The banns would be 
published, on the strength of his manner, in next 
week’s social column. One might suggest a long 
engagement until I was twenty-eight. How many 
years would that be, — eighteen, nineteen, twenty, 
twenty-one, twenty- two, twenty-three, twenty-four, 
five, six, seven, eight — ten years. If he really 
cares, he ought to be able to wait that long. 

Dear me ! where’s my pen ? I must answer his 
letter. He may be watching for the postman as 
Kathryn did. What shall I say — 

Dear Carl: — You ask me to wait three years for you — 


74 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


can you wait ten for me ? I will not marry until I am 
twenty-eight. Truly, 

Jenny. 

P. S. I shall be eighteen next May. 

J. T. T. 

May 5, 18H. 

Father is going to dine with old Mr. Stuart. I 
shall be alone all this evening. What a storm I 
That shutter is distracting. It must be closed. 
Oh — how dreary ! There, Mr. Shutter, an end to 
your mischief. You were very disturbing. How 
the wind blows. It is as if March had pushed 
April aside and was determined to sweep May out 
of existence. Oh — I’m lonely ! I could have 
gone to Kathryn’s. She might have sent for me, 
but no — better not. She was unkind yesterday. 
I’ve been brooding over what she said. That 
must be why I’m so downcast. She said — she 
said that I was growing intolerably old-maidish. 
It was rather cruel. It made me wince painfully. 
Her manner implied so much. It left me so 
alone. To have an — an unmarried sister seems to 
her as great a misfortune as to have an imbecile 
or a lunatic or a black sheep in the family. Her 
husband seems to be watching for me to develop 
some extraordinary eccentricities. I’m sure he 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


75 


makes me a butt of ridicule. I serve as a simile 
for anything that is outlandish or weazened. If I 
were to make some antediluvian fashion my 
inseparable companion, and wear cork-screw curls, 
they would think I personified the inevitable and 
be resigned to me. Oh, I’m in such a bitter mood, 
but why should they imagine that I’m so differ- 
ent. I have as great a capacity for affection and 
as great an appreciation of love as they. I have 
as many senses, the same instincts. They may be 
dormant but they are alive and not to be scorned. 

If mother were here, I should not regret. Kath- 
ryn said, though, that it was a sorrow to mamma 
that she must die leaving me unmarried. 

Oh how purposeless — purposeless — purposeless ! 

If I had an art or a profession ! How many 
women have and never miss their mate or recall 
their dreams. They wed an art. Their achieve- 
ments are their offspring. They create and are 
content. But I — I have nothing. Yes, I have 
father. He has me. I am baby Jane ” to him 
forever. If he should realize that I am an — am 
old, it would take all the sweetness out of life. 
When he is gone, what will there be — what will 
there be then ! 

Oh — I am growing morbid. The world is as 
happy as it is sad. If I search constantly for joy, 
it can not always elude me. 


76 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


Oh — oh — that little cry relieved me. It grows 
dark. The storm is shortening the day. There 
is a long evening before me. I wish I had some- 
thing absorbing to read. No — not a thing that is 
new to me. Why, here’s the old album. What 
funny pictures of Kathryn ! Here are mine. What 
an array, and my age written under each. It is a 
long time since I’ve been photographed. Here is 
one taken when I was seventeen. I wonder if 
I’m so very, very different now. I’ve a mind to 
compare — Just to see if — Can I get it out? Yes, 
I think I can. There ! If it were just a little hghter 
here — I can see very well, though. Oh — how 
changed, how changed, how changed ! Ugh ! It 
is the ghost of my youth returned to taunt me. 
I will never, never look again ! 

“Yes — who is it? What is it? Oh — you, 
John? What — a letter? Thank you. The lamps? 
No, not just yet. 

The writing is strange. Who can it be from ! 

Dear Miss Trumbell : — A wanderer begs you to wel- 
come him home. I saw you yesterday, and you seemed 
as sweet to me as you did long ago. Once you bid me 
wait ten years for you. Many more than ten have 
passed since then. Have I waited in vain? Will you 
promise now to be “sweeter to me than to any one else” 
all the rest of our lives? I will call this evening, and if 
you will only see me, it shall mean “yes” to me. 

Carlos Converse. 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


77 


Oh! — how you startled me, John. What? 
Dinner is served — oh. Very well. John, you 
may light the lamps, and John, if anyone calls 
you may say that — say I’m ‘‘ at home.” 


LofC. 






A FRAGMENT 


A Fragment. 



'HIS brush seems made of lead. Strange, yes- 


1 terday that bit of drapery there looked 
blue. To-day it is aflame, and yet I know — I’ll 
ask that little English copyist. She has kind 
eyes. No — no, I must not. They will say,“ Why 
does he paint if he is color-blind? He should 
make way for such as can paint.” They do not 
know the Queen bought my Carpaccio. Three 
years — ^how long ago ! 

That burning — blue. My memory says blue, 
my eyes see — strange, strange ! It must be last 
night’s watching — last night and the night before, 
and the night before that. When did I — I’m glad I 
have forgotten how to sleep. To-night and to- 
morrow night — ^by then he may be weU. Oh 
Holy Mother, save him for us, save him ! 

I made Edita rest last night. She is so afraid. 
Her heart is breaking. She sobbed through all 
her sleep. She needs good wine. It would give 
strength to keep up. Perhaps I can take some to 
her. Who knows, I may have fifty lire to-night. 
Then I need not paint for a little time — not until 


79 


80 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


he is well. Blessed Mother, my hand prays with 
every stroke of this brush on your dear face, prays 
as my lips pray, as I pray to you in my heart ! 

When the little hands begin copying my old 
pictures again, then I shall knoW he is well — our 
beautiful boy, Edita’s and mine. He is a true 
artist. We know it. We can see it in his eyes. 
Holy Mother, they are like the babe’s on your 
knee. One can see the soul in them. 

How the colors waver ! I must paint carefully. 
Can that be crimson ? I’m sure I did not notice 
it before. How did Battoni reach that shade, I 
can not — I can not ! Perhaps I need yellow. It 
is like looking at a flame. It scorches my eyes. 
This is an endless task ! Yesterday I could see 
room for but twenty strokes more by the morning 
light. The sun must be far on toward the West, 
and still it is unfinished. These brushes hinder. 
Had the signora known, she might have had a 
better picture. Had she known I wished to be 
honest, she might have paid a few lire in advance. 
What would it matter to her ? What would it not 
have meant to us ! Oh Edita ! Oh my boy — my 
boy ! To-night, to-night ! I will go to the English 
doctor. That is best. They say his cures are 
like miracles. 

The signora may come to-day. She may wish 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


81 


to compare my picture with the original before I 
deliver it to her. Well — but a few touches more. 
How uncertain I am I One’s heart must be in the 
work or one can not even copy, and my heart — 
my soul is by my boy, my poor sick boy, and 
with Edita, Edita. Oh, I can see her ! She is 
following him as he tosses from side to side. She 
creeps to him. She leans on her arms and 
watches him. There is such agony in her eyes. 
Oh my heart I my heart I The flesh is worn from 
her elbows where she has leaned on them over 
him. She would not touch food if we had it. 
Oh — I can see nothing, nothing but Edita and our 
boy — them and a crimson flame I 

If the signora comes, she may see how accurately 
I have drawn, how true my color is. She may 
say what the Queen said of my Carpaccio. She 
may say, “ Paint me that Guido. Paint me that 
Van Dyck.” Then she will give me my fifty 
lire. Ten minutes, perhaps fifteen, and I shall be 
at home. The English doctor will be by our boy. 
I shall make Edita drink the wine I bring her. 
I shall see hope come into her eyes. Then, when 
I have painted the Guido for the signora, we may 
go to the country for a day — Edita, our boy and I. 
Ah — there is the signora! Just a stroke more. 
That blue — crimson drapery — if that would only 
look right ! 


82 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


jjc ^ :i« 

There is my copyist, Estelle. There — painting 
that Madonna by Battoni. Lovely thing, isn’t 
it? Come and look at it. He must be nearly 
through. Copies of the old masters usually make 
one heart-sick, but they say this man does excep- 
tionally well. Margaret told me about him. She 
saw him at work somewhere. She always notices 
people, you know. What did you say? Looks 
ghastly ? So he does. What is the matter with 
the man I Oh — how you startled me ! What 
nonsense. That must be a natural pallor. These 
Italians are so hungry looking. Ugh I He makes 
me uncomfortable. I hope he won’t do so omin- 
ous a thing as to die while he is doing my picture. 
It would prostrate me nervously, you know. 
Come and tell me what you think of it, Estelle. 

Good-day, signore. Is the copy ready for me ? 
Oh no — I see it is not. I expected you would be 
through with it to-day. You disappoint me, 
signore. I beg pardon, I don’t understand you. 
It is finished I It is finished, you say ? Estelle, 
come here! Look at this painting. The man 
says that it is completed — ready for me. He 
hopes I am satisfied, and says that he has done 
his best to please me. Is he crazy or am I blind? 
Look, Estelle I Tell me — is this Maddona like 


AND OTHER EPISODES. 


83 


that Madonna? Is this child like that child? 
Why, he has painted the manger in flames ! 
What do you mean, signore ? I do not compre- 
hend you. Are you trying to improve on Battoni, 
or have you touched up an old efibrt of your own 
for my ediflcation? How stupidly you look at 
me ! Look at your copy, signore. Is it possible 
that you can not see the difierences? Battoni ’s 
Madonna looks down with a face full of sweet 
rapture, yours is full of misery. That child is full 
of life, yours looks like death. 

Ah — ! Signora! You have spoken it! I — 
I — my eyes — I — Last night I — my boy, signora, 
is dying — perhaps — I don’t know. I have 
painted — I see now — I have painted him as I saw 
him last night, as I have seen him for a week, 
as I see him now; and — I — signora, I have painted 
the Holy Mother as I see Edita, as I see my wife 
watching, watching over him. I don’t know 
signora, how I could do it. I am very accurate 
always. Perhaps you do not know the Queen 
has my Carpaccio. If— if the signora will be so 
kind, I will correct carefully my work. It would 
be a great misfortune to lose — the opportunity. 
This year has been a hard one for us. Believe me, 
signora I will paint faithfully. I will not think of 
them. When one has a sick boy one must work 


84 


ME an’ METHUSELAR 


to save him. I can paint truly and quickly, sig- 
nora — 

Edita ! Edita ! What is it ? Why do you come ? 
Speak to me ! Our boy — is he — Look, signora ! 
Her face tells you — my boy — my boy is dead ! 









\ 


# 


i 

I • • 


s 


f 


♦ 

#• 


✓ 


















